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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27181684">Singing La, La La La, La La La...</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/sunny_jordy/pseuds/sunny_jordy'>sunny_jordy</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>A Tale of Song and Heart [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Rusty Quill Gaming (Podcast)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>174 fix-it, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst With A Bittersweet Ending, Canonical Character Death, Inspired by Orpheus and Eurydice (Ancient Greek Religion &amp; Lore), M/M, Memory Loss, Singing</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-10-24</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-12-03</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-07 03:02:08</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>3</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>14,677</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27181684</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/sunny_jordy/pseuds/sunny_jordy</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p><i>Wait for me, I'm comin'<br/>Wait, I'm comin' with you<br/>Wait for me, I'm comin' too<br/>I'm comin' too</i><br/>- Wait For Me, from the musical Hadestown</p><p>Damn everything in the world, Zolf will get Oscar back, no matter what. And if he has to sing his way to his love's soul, then so be it.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Celiquillithon "Cel" Sidebottom &amp; Zolf Smith, Commander James Barnes &amp; Celiquillithon "Cel" Sidebottom, Commander James Barnes &amp; Zolf Smith, Hamid Saleh Haroun al-Tahan &amp; Zolf Smith, Zolf Smith/Oscar Wilde</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>A Tale of Song and Heart [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/2078853</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>40</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>35</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Decisions</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>I am so excited to share this!<br/>After 174 released and we all cried our souls, quite a lot of folk said how Zoscar could have a Orpheus and Eurydice thing going on (specific thanks to Zeno who first mentioned it!) So I decided to make that happen, cause I am a sucker for both the story and Hadestown... only I promise this is a fix-it, so y'know, it's not the exact story.<br/>Massive love to the When In Rome discord server with whom I sprinted and vibed to sad music :D</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>The sun goes down on a vast forest as the Vengeance crew finishes to set camp, the surviving people of the ship’s crash trying their best to do the necessary tasks for survival in the wilds. After the initial shock and grief, everyone realised they still have basic needs - food, sleep, shelter. Sohra said that the little time they used for that would not interfere with however they plan to help, so everyone found a task to fixate on, and got on working.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Zolf, for himself, is turning what food they managed to salvage from the ship into soup. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Easy, simple, not much thought. </span>
  </em>
  <span>Unfortunately, the cooking being so simple gives Zolf a whole lot of time to examine how he feels at the moment, which is… not great. Not great would be a pretty way to put it.</span>
</p><p>
  
  <em>
    <span>It’s happening again. It’s happening again, and it’s out of my control, and there is nothing I can do to save him. To save all of them, but…</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Zolf glances at the longest of the bodies laid out near the ship, and then snaps his gaze back to the stimming caldurn, gripping the ladle in his hand a bit too tightly then he actually needs to as he stirs the soup furiously. </span>
  <em>
    <span>I can’t properly grieve now, so I will do my best to hold on. Cause that’s the only current option. Everyone’s doing their best, and I will too.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“Soup’s ready!” He shouts to the rest of the crew, who mostly finished up their tasks and are now assembling back after all having scattered away to their small groups. Zolf spots Hamid and Cel returning alongside Sohra, both of his friends wearing solemn looks. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Well, that can’t be good. </span>
  </em>
  <span>“Hey Hamid, d’you mind coming over and help me hand out the soup?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Of course, Zolf.” Hamid comes over, and they both start arranging in quiet the bowls and handing them out - Zolf pours, Hamid flies over the bowl to someone. After a few seconds of silence, though, Zolf breaks it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hamid?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, Zolf?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What did Sohra tell you and Cel?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hamid’s face falls down, and the bowl he’s sending to Skraak wobbles for a second in the air before reaching its destination. “Look, Zolf, can we do this later? I’m - it’s not a great time for it, and right now I just want to sit down and eat something.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Zolf opens his mouth to protest, but then shuts it close. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Hamid’s right. Whatever it is, I can… wait. We’re not going anywhere, and we all need to take a moment to breathe. As much as it is even possible right now, at least. </span>
  </em>
  <span>“Alright, Hamid. You’re right. I just…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hamid lays his hand on Zolf’s arm for a brief moment, and looks up to give him just the barest of smiles before taking the last bowl of soup away from him. “I know. Me too.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Zolf does his best to maintain eye contact, but he looks away the moment he feels the need to cry rising in his chest. “Thanks. Um, I’m - I’m gonna go and ah, eat.” He hurries to take his own bowl and goes over to sit near Earhart, leaving the conversation maybe a bit too quickly. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>I hate talking sometimes.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>At least he knew who to pick to sit with during dinner. Earhart doesn’t attempt making conversation, which Zolf is more than grateful for, so he can just disassociate from everything while eating and let his mind go basically nowhere, the buzz of quiet chatting serving as his way to avoid losing himself in his own thoughts again. It’s a skill he learned already in his days in the navy, when he was even less of a talker than nowadays. When everyone gathered around the table night after night to exchange loud stories and dumb jokes, Zolf would often find himself just letting the noise fade to the background and be just another sound in his surroundings, his mind floating to no place in particular. It made it a little easier to deal with the current situation, at the least.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Okay, everyone!” Zolf looks up to Cel, who went to stand up near the fireplace, so they face the small group of people. Beside them stands Sohra, her arms crossed and their face showing clear nervousness. “If everyone finished, ah, eating and talking and all that, ah, Hamid and I spoke to Sohra before, about how to - to bring everyone back and all that, of course, um - and - well - I - I guess it’d be better if they just explain it themselves?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sohra takes a step forward, putting her arms at her side, and takes a deep breath in before beginning to speak. “As Cel said, we spoke about the current situation, and we figured out how we can help.” If someone wasn’t listening yet, everyone’s ears pricked up at that. Zolf slowly set his empty bowl aside, and leaned forward. </span>
  <em>
    <span>So they can help. That’s… that’s good.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“With examining the state of the bodies, and the fact we got here fast enough, we think it’s entirely possible to bring back most of them. However, there is a problem with - what was his name, Cel?” </span>
  <em>
    <span>Oh, no...</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Cel’s eyes flick quickly across the half circle - is Zolf imagining, or is their gaze lingers on him just a little too long? - before looking up to the sky, avoiding eye contact with everyone. “It’s Oscar.” Their voice breaks, and Zolf’s heart falls down.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He's already on his feet, but Barnes beats him to the chase. “What do you mean, exactly? What problem?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“When he died, Oscar was still wearing his anti-magic shackles,” Sohra explains, staying calm despite how . “The magic we want to attempt brings back the soul to the body itself, but since he had the shackles on, his essence passed on with them. Anything we try to do directly to his soul would simply not work.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Silence falls down on everyone present. Zolf doesn’t sit back down, so shocked from the implication of Sohra’s words he can’t move. </span>
  <em>
    <span>This can’t be the way it ends. It can’t be the way he ends. </span>
  </em>
  <span>His mind goes through the words again and again with lightning speed, desperately trying to find something that leaves a place for hope. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Hold on.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“You said, do directly to his soul.” All eyes shoot to Zolf’s direction. “Does that mean is there a way which is indirect?” He immediately spots the hesitation in Sohra’s eyes, and knows he was right to ask. Zolf presses on. “If there is, I want to know.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s not that simple. It’s not a spell, you simply can’t cast a spell on his soul, it won’t work.” Sohra nods. “But yes, you are right. It’s complicated, but.. I do know a ritual that might be able to do that.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Alright, great! Then what’s the problem? If all the deal is just a slightly complicated ritual, we can do that.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sohra shakes their head. “It’s not that simple. You… you might want to sit down for that?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Zolf slowly sits down, keeping his face focused directly on the druid all the way. “Fine. What is it?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sohra passes their around, making sure that all are focused before talking again. “Do any of you know the story of Orpheus and Eurydice?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Isn’t it the one about the bard who sang his way to Hades to get his lover back?” Hamid pipes up.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Not exactly.” The fire behind Cel and Sohra crackles, another wood breaking down. “Orpheus was a bard, yes. But he didn’t just sing his way to get Eurydice back, and he never met Hades; that god would’ve never let a soul escape his kingdom once it reached there, not just by singing. No, what Orpheus did was to use an occult ritual. No one’s sure if he was the one to discover it, if it was given to him by one of the other gods, or if it was an already known ritual, but… According to what we know, this is what he did.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Maybe it would be best to say what is an occult ritual? I imagine not all are familiar with the term,” says Azu quietly. The meaning tickles somewhere in the back of Zolf’s mind, something he was surely told about in his studies when he joined the temple of Poseidon, but he’s not sure… </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lucky for him, Azu does seem to know what it means. “It’s a ritual that anyone can cast, essentially. I know of very few that even exist - they are very rare to find or to invent by yourself, and if you fail the consequences are dire. The requirements are impossibly difficult; whatever this specific one is… Sohra is not exaggerating. It will be hard.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“But it’s possible, right?” Skraak asks, turning his look away from Azu to Sohra. “It seems to me that you know one of these occult rituals, whatever they are, so… What’s the problem?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I tend to agree. I mean, why is it even a discussion? We can’t just not try to bring Wilde back, and we’ve dealt with difficult things before.” Zolf shrugs. “Let’s learn about this ritual and just get on with it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sohra tilts their head back a little, pressing their hands together in intertwining her fingers as they try to phrase their answer. “It’s not as simple as that. It’s not just like a battle where you need to be strong enough - for an occult ritual you have to follow the instructions exactly, not to speak of the fact that if you attempt the ritual without any of its specific requirements, you could destroy everything in a hundred feet radius. If you don’t have what’s needed for this, then… we’re sorry, you simply wouldn’t be able to do this.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hamid leans forward, barely sitting on the edge of a stone, and Zolf can tell he is nervous as much as Zolf himself is, all of the halfling’s body stiff and tense. “What </span>
  <em>
    <span>are</span>
  </em>
  <span> the requirements for this ritual?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sohra takes a deep breath in. “You need three people who, with all of their hearts, are willing to sacrifice their lives for the person they try to bring back.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Silence falls on the small camp.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Zolf closes his eyes, straightens his back, and opens them back, his heart hammering in his chest. </span>
  <em>
    <span>That’s not a problem. </span>
  </em>
  <span>“Right, I can do that. Two more people?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>People are definitely staring at him, but it’s not like he minds. He’s not exactly revealing something, is he? And even if he was - showing just how much he cares for Oscar - it doesn’t matter. </span>
  <em>
    <span>The only important thing is that.. I’ll do whatever needed, and… I have the willingness to put my life at risk if it means he comes back. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Cel steps forwards from their place besides Sohra just as Barnes stands up. There’s an awkward moment of both of them trying to speak before Barnes motions to Cel to go first.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, I - I would do that for anyone here, really, and I’ve also seen a few rituals in my life, you know, I haven’t been enough in Meritocratic lands but people use rituals to do stuff all the time, really, in America, you know, when you need them - “ Cel cuts themselves in the middle of the sentence, realising they went off track. “What I’m just saying is that, essentially, it’s best I do this, like, since I have the experience and - I can - the point is that I can do that, so I will.” Cel stops their talking abruptly, pushing their hands down to their pockets, looking down to their feet, clearly thinking about much more than what they just said. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>As much as Zolf doesn’t know how to read people, something in his heart tells him Cel was being honest when they said they’d be willing to sacrifice their lives for anyone in the crew.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Barnes clears his throat to break the silence, rubbing the back of his neck as he looks down to the ground, avoiding looking directly at anyone. “Not much to say, I guess. Can’t really count the amount of times Oscar saved my life. I’d do the same for him.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hamid looks up from where he sits. “Barnes.. wouldn’t that mean you might not be there when Carter comes back?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, Hamid, yes it does.” The once army person clenches his jaw, his mouth becoming a sharp, determined line. “But that’s where I’m needed. He’d understand. He would’ve made the same decision, if he were here instead of me”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Zolf looks for a second more at his friend, a man who traveled and fought alongside him for the large part of the past two years, and something in his chest feels warm again for the first time since the crash. </span>
  <em>
    <span>If we’re throwing ourselves away in a desperate chance to get Oscar back, I’m glad to have him stand with me. </span>
  </em>
  <span>Then, Zolf tears his gaze away and back to Sohra, who hasn’t said a word during all these proclamations, and tilts his chin up.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What do we have to do?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>___________</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It took them a fair share of the night to talk things over, and most of the day afterwards, too. Sohra had to explain to them exactly how to cast the ritual, what to say, how to stand, what they should expect, what they need to be ready for. She made sure to emphasize that they could all die - if not worse - several times, but after they saw none of the three volunteers was deterred by the risk, they stopped. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Then there was more talk of the whole crew. Sohra said they need to take Meerk, Sassraa and Carter back to their home if they want to bring them back, since she has her resources there. But then, they also told them it’s best Wilde won’t be moved from the place he died - something about spiritual connection to the place of death, and it would help executing the Orpheus ritual a bit easier. What this meant, though, is that the party needs to split up, for a period of time unknown to them. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Zolf sits on a fallen barrel of wood down in the forest where the wind plays with his hair, leaning forwards and plucking strings of grass that he rolls between his fingers before discarding them away and collecting new ones. He sits not far from the camp, but it’s enough to finally have some quiet. Even if no one were speaking, the general atmosphere in the group was heaving down on Zolf, and he needed some time by himself to think things over.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The kobolds, quite obviously, will go with Sohra, as they won’t dare to not be there for the return of Meerk and Sasha. Hamid, torn as he clearly was, eventually decided to come along with them. That meant Azu would also join, since she didn’t want to let Hamid go without any of his friends, and Kiko decided to accompany her.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>This left the trio who will perform the ritual - Zolf, Cel and Barnes - and then Earhart, Siggif and Friedrich. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>It’ll be fine,</span>
  </em>
  <span> Zolf tells himself. </span>
  <em>
    <span>They can watch over us while we do this, they’ll be able to intervene if anything goes wrong. Not that it will, because we all know what we have to do.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“Zolf?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He looks up to meet Azu’s gaze, his eyes catching her glowing pink before they register her face. “Hey, Azu.” He doesn’t hide the weariness in his voice, and thankfully she doesn’t comment on it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Can I sit with you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sure, why not.” Might it have been anyone else, Zolf would refuse, but Azu’s presence doesn’t bother him. He knows she won’t make him feel uncomfortable, and if she’s here it means he can’t spiral down in his thoughts. He might need that.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Azu sits down beside Zolf, not bothering with finding another barrel of wood. She still passes Zolf in at least a head and a half, mind you, even with him having something to sit on. The silence falls down once again, and Zolf goes back to plucking grass.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“How are you doing, Azu?” Zolf’s shocked by his own question even as it comes out. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Where did that come from? </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>…I guess I can care actively.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh. Me?” Azu’s voice sounds surprised. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Maybe she didn’t think she’s the one who’s about to get a question about her own mental state.</span>
  </em>
  <span> “I’m… handling. It’s not… it’s hard to really understand how I am feeling. It’s hard to grieve when you are still hoping.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hmm.” Zolf doesn’t give a more articulated answer, just tilts his head back to look above at the scrap of sky visible from the canopy of the woods, the cold and twisted weather turning the usual blue to pale turquoise. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Maybe he doesn’t answer because he feels the same. Maybe he doesn’t answer because the shock and sorrow still linger in him, sitting in the pit of his stomach, screaming still a day after, begging to crawl up his lungs and escape his throat as swallowed sea water that choke him from the inside. But there’s the fire of hope in his heart, and it refuses to let him grieve. Why should he cry if they’ll come back? If he’s supposed to have Oscar by his side again not long from now?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Azu nudges his shoulder slightly with her elbow. “How about you?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Zolf gives out a dry laugh, breath shaking. “The same, I guess? ...Maybe. I don’t know. I keep thinking I’m going to break down any moment, but I don’t. So.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes.” Azu sighs, her shoulders slumping down. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>T</span>
  <span>hey don’t say anything else, just stay there until eventually they both resolve to go back. Even though, when he comes back to their makeshift camp, Zolf can’t help but fill just a little better.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>___________</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It’s evening once again, and the part of the crew which has determined to be going with Sohra are getting ready to leave. Meanwhile, the remaining people are getting ready for the ritual, both practically and mentally. For himself, Zolf is standing close to the small bonfire they lit up once again, watching over his friends who he’s about to be seperated from until they all manage their own missions.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A small figure leaves this group, and Zolf sees Hamid coming over to him, a stressed smile across his face. “Hey, Zolf.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey, Hamid.” Zolf rubs his eyes, trying to massage away the stress from his face with no real luck. “So.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hamid drops the smile and sighs, and before Zolf knows what’s happening the halfling engulfs him in a tight hug, his face buried into the dwarf’s chest. “Good luck, Zolf,” Hamid murmurs, almost inaudible. But Zolf hears.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Zolf closes his eyes and lets his muscles relax, and gathers Hamid in his arms in return, warmth radiating from the two men as they try to say more with their actions than they ever managed in words.. “See you soon, Hamid.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>When Hamid finally lets go and Zolf looks at him again, he can see that a few tears have gathered in the younger man’s eyes, and feels how it twigs his own heart. “Promise?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Zolf offers him his hand for a shake. “I’m willing to shake on it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’ll hold you up to it, you know,” Hamid replies with a half chuckle, wiping away his tears with the edge of his sleeve.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I know.” Zolf keeps his hand open, waiting steadily.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hamid takes his hand with his own two little ones and gives it a firm shake before letting go, his eyes not moving away from Zolf’s. “See you soon, then.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Zolf offers up a rare smile. “Yeah.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hamid gives him a last wave as he runs to join the rest of the leaving group, and Zolf raises his hand in return before dropping it down. </span>
  <em>
    <span>I’ll see him soon. All of them. We’re all gonna manage it.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Sohra approaches Zolf after she finished talking to both Cel and Barnes, crouching down to look Zolf in the eye. “Are you sure you want the one to be going between the planes? We’ve spoken to Barnes and Cel, they are willing to do this instead if you don’t want to be the main caster. You still have time to change your mind.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Zolf shakes his head. “There’s no need for that. As I’ve said, I have the most experience with magic, </span>
  <em>
    <span>and </span>
  </em>
  <span>I know Wilde best. If we want to manage this, it has to be me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Alright.” Sohra puts their hand on Zolf’s shoulder, giving him a small yet strong press before standing up. “Good luck, then. Don’t forget to always think of where you are going, who you are looking for, and why you are doing this. And don’t let go of the hope you will succeed.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He gives Sohra an awkward thumbs up with both hands. “Kind of my thing, I guess.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The druid gives him a final smile, and then he’s watching her walk away back to the one part of the crew. Not a moment goes by, and they all start walking away, quickly disappearing between the woods. Gone to save their friends.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They’re left there, a ruined ship, its captain, her first mate, and less than half their crew.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Zolf glances to where they moved Oscar’s body to, laying with his eyes closed and face up to the full moon. </span>
  <em>
    <span>I’m gonna get you back, Oscar. Hang on.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>He turns to the other five crewmates. Earhart is sitting down with Siggif and Friedrich, each one of them deep in their own thoughts. Barnes and Cel stand not a few feet away, speaking in hushed voices.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Zolf takes a deep breath in.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Right. Who’s prepared to cast a ritual?”</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Listen to the Heart</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>The singing proved to be the easy part.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Hello everyone! After a long break, I'm finally back. Hopefully you'll forgive me, considering the length of the chapter? (I promise, it couldn't have been broken up.)<br/>Please notice the change of the tags - the vision I have for the ending has shifted, and I'm going for something more bittersweet. Mind you, it will still be a fix-it - but if you're looking for something strictly happy in the end, I'm afraid I felt the current direction is more interesting to explore.</p>
<p>A huge, huge thank you to <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sevik/pseuds/Sevik">Sevik</a>, who had just the most brilliant idea for this chapter, and to <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/illusemywords/pseuds/illusemywords%22">illusemywords</a>, who did a beta of the whole thing, and had some lovely comments to give. And of course, thanks again to all the wonderful folks in Rome who basically helped me finish the thing by just cheering along. </p>
<p>Enjoy the chapter!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>The lights of the aurora borealis flicker in the dark sky, the moon shimmering through every few seconds before disappearing again under the shifting waves of magic. As Zolf sits down on the ground and looks up at this view, he wonders absentmindedly if the raw power of creation that is so present here would be more of help or more of trouble in the ritual they’re about to attempt.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The ritual.</span>
  <em>
    <span> Right. </span>
  </em>
  <span>It’s nearly time.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Zolf looks down, to where Wilde lays in front of him, the sickly white of his skin broken only by the gut tearing scarlet of his own dried blood. Zolf sits beside him, with Barnes and Cel each sitting by one of Zolf's shoulders. He has a backpack already on his back, packed with some food and water and various other useful items, as they have no idea for how long he’s going, or what will wait for him on the other side. Zolf takes a deep breath in, trying to calm his shaking hands, which tremble even when resting on his thighs. </span>
  <em>
    <span>It’s alright. It’ll be fine, this is going to work. It has to, so it will.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>A firm hand lands on his right shoulder, and Zolf turns to look up to Barnes. “You alright, Zolf?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He barks a short laugh. “I’m as well as I could be, I imagine. So, y’know. But if you’re worrying about me doing this, then don’t. I’m ready.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Alright, then.” Barnes does not take his hand away, but gives Zolf’s shoulder a reassuring squeeze. “Don’t die, will ya?” And his tone is light, but Zolf knows by the open look in his eyes that the sturdy man means it. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Barnes probably can’t afford to lose another friend. And so do I.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Zolf gives Barnes’ hand a small pat. “You too.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Cel clears their throat slightly - not demandingly, mind you, just to get the other two’s attention, and Zolf is suddenly very aware that he and Barnes were having this close exchanges with another person right beside them. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Congratulations, Zolf, you’ve embarrassed yourself once again.</span>
  </em>
  <span> He turns to Cel, who has a very fond smile on their lips as they tilt their head slightly upwards, gesturing to the full moon. “It’s gonna be midnight soon, so I think, um, we should - begin?” The sentence curls up at the end, turning into a question.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Zolf glances to Barnes, who just nods, before returning his gaze back to Cel. “Yeah, I think… No, I know. We’re ready.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Cel gives him a tight smile, and Zolf can tell how nervous they are. Their whole body is rigid, and one of their knees bump up and down on the ground, the stress being so bad that their attempt to radiate calmness breaks far too easily. Zolf catches Cel's look, his eyes not leaving their face. "I know I've asked before already, but are you okay to do this? Remember, Sohra said that this won't work if we don't believe it does, and I…," Zolf's voice drops a little, and he feels something clutching at his heart, aching with fear. "I don't want you to get hurt for this." </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Cel ducks their head down for a moment, and when they raise it back Zolf meets a grief-stricken and worn-out face, the pretense of normality dropped. “I - I want to do this,” Cel says quietly. “I don’t - I’m just, I’m worried about you, and also you, Barnes - ,“ they flick their eyes to the former commander, who still sits with his hand on Zolf’s shoulder, unmoving. “And the others, and Carter and Sassraa and Meerk, and if this doesn’t work? I mean... This has to work, and - and I think - I think it will, it has to so it will, there’s - there’s just no other option, really!” They drop their head down, burying it in their hands, their fingers tangled in the curls and frizzles of their disheveled hair. Zolf can tell they are trying to calm down, as Cel’s shoulders rise and fall in an attempt to breathe again. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It hits Zolf at that moment that he has never seen his friend like this. </span>
  <em>
    <span>How haven’t I seen them? </span>
  </em>
  <span>Zolf asks himself at that sudden thought, and has to take a moment to pin-point how this quick talk is different than usual. </span>
  <em>
    <span>I’ve never seen them so… open, I imagine. They always hide things so well, it’s hard to notice from the outside how much they carry…</span>
  </em>
  <span> The ache in Zolf’s heart intensifies. </span>
  <em>
    <span>We’re much more alike than I thought.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>When Cel looks back up again at the two men, their face are slightly flushed from crying, and they sniff a couple of times before speaking. “I’m sorry. It’s almost midnight, and… I - I’m ready. Let’s do this.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Zolf, never breaking the gaze, puts a hand on Cel’s knee and gives them a small nod. “There is nothing to be sorry for. And… thank you.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Still not leaving Zolf, Barnes extends his free arm to Cel, offering the hand with a palm upwards. “It’s gonna be alright, Cel,” he says, and his voice sounds so confident it manages to sooth something in Zolf, too, filling his chest with warmth that erases that terrible pain in his heart. </span>
  <em>
    <span>I have the two of them beside me, and I can’t ask for more than that</span>
  </em>
  <span>. “When the both of you want.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Cel places their two hands in two different places - one in Barnes’ hold, the other on Zolf’s own hand, that stayed on the half-elf’s knee. “Zolf?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He inhales from the nose, and extends his free hand to grab Wilde’s bony hand. It’s cold as death, and it hurts to hold him like this , but there is no other choice. By holding his hand Zolf is linking the four of them, with him - the main caster - as the center point. So far, they’re following instructions.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The rest won’t be that easy.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Zolf nods. “You can start.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>His friends share a look, and Zolf takes it as a sign to close his eyes, waiting.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Then, they start to sing.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sohra clarified that it doesn’t matter, exactly, what song they pick, as long as it means something to them. Though Zolf would have to do most of the singing, as he is the one who’s about to be sent to bring Oscar back, she did say that Cel and Barnes would be the ones to start the ritual itself. All they had to do is pick a song that means something to all of them as Zolf himself would focus on what Wilde means to him. Zolf felt sure that at least this part would be easy.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It took them some time to actually find a song - they come from different places, and so finding a tune that would mean something to all of them took a lot of discussing shared places and cultures they all were familiar with. They did find something that each of one of them picked up from someone along their travels, and that they found close enough to their hearts.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The words swirl around Zolf, clear and bright and comforting in the cold night’s air.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Of all the trees that grow so fair,</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>  Old England to adorn,</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Greater are none beneath the Sun,</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span> Than Oak, and Ash, and Thorn.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Sing Oak, and Ash, and Thorn, good sirs…”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Zolf focuses, forcing himself to bring to the surface all the feelings and memories he’s been suppressing since the crash. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Wilde laughing wholeheartedly at one of Zolf’s dry jokes, tears of joy in his eyes… Wilde’s hair blown back in the wind as he stands outside the inn, watching the horizon in sunset, and Zolf, picking a secret glance at the man as the rays of light caress his face…  Their hands brushing in the only place it can be an accident, in all those times Wilde’s insisted to help Zolf in the kitchen to make dinner, even though he barely knew his way around a pan…</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Oak of the Clay lived many a day,</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>  Or ever Aeneas began.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Ash of the Loam was a lady at home,</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>  When Brut was an outlaw man.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Thorn of the Down saw New Troy Town…”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The music engulfs Zolf, cradling him, and he can almost feel how the magic is weaving itself around him, like threads of pure heat that wrap around his joints and limbs and arms and slip inside his veins. He focuses more, throwing himself even deeper…</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>A flustered Wilde giggling. The sensation of Oscar’s fingers in his hair as he helps Zolf cut it short for the first time. The smell of tea he makes Zolf after he returns wet and shivering from a long mission in the rain, Oscar pulling a blanket around Zolf’s shoulder and sits beside him to tell him stories of his childhood until Zolf falls asleep. The both of them taking shared walks to the beach in the few sunny days they have, and sometimes Oscar sings. And even without casting magic, Zolf is falling for him…</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Yew that is old in churchyard-mould,</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>  He breedeth a mighty bow.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Alder for shoes do wise men choose,</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>  And beech for cups also.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>But when ye have killed, and your bowl is spilled…”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The music reaches his heart, and Zolf falls away.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>___________</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>When Zolf opens his eyes, his first thought is that they failed. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The air around him is so cold that Zolf thinks he’s still in that forest - his backpack is still in the same position it was on his back, and nothing about his sensations feels different. It takes him a few moments for his eyes to register his surroundings and for his nerves to get a better sense that he realises there’s no wind. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>And he’s in a cave.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>When his eyes finally adjust to the dim light, Zolf examines the place he’s in. It’s a huge cave, its black stone walls towering so high up that Zolf doesn’t manage to spot the ceiling, only seeing the miles long columns of merged stalactites and stalagmites that stretch ahead from him to who knows where. The minerals shine like gemstones, amber and amethyst and opal that serve as the only source of light in the cave, their faint gleam casting vibrant shadows all around. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>This huge space around Zolf is also vacant from sound, his breaths echoing painfully in the emptiness. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Right,” he murmurs to himself, looking down at the ground, hoping to find some indication to where he should head next. The stone beneath him is the same as the rest of the cave, unpolished with bumps and sockets spread all around it. </span>
  <em>
    <span>I’ll have to be careful with that; as good as they are, it’s not exactly the best terrain for my legs.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>So, there isn’t anything he can infer from this place. If he’s honest, Zolf isn’t even sure yet </span>
  <em>
    <span>where</span>
  </em>
  <span> he is. The whole atmosphere of the place definitely resembles stories of the underworld, which… makes sense, in some ways, but in others, doesn’t. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Didn’t Sohra say something about me going between the planes? Hmm. Maybe this part of the underworld is what resides between reaching all of the other planes. I’ve never heard about people going to other planes through this kind of place, it’s always a passage between planes or a spell that transports you… then again, this is not a traditional way to get anywhere. And seeing as I’m here, and have not exploded… it must be it.</span>
  </em>
  <span> Zolf shakes his head to himself, astonished by the revelation of this new way of transfer. </span>
  <em>
    <span>I’m sure Azu would be interested in hearing that. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Well, back to the question of where to go… Zolf </span>
  <em>
    <span>is</span>
  </em>
  <span> replicating the Orpheus and Eurydice story, isn’t he?</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Thank the Gods Sohra said he doesn’t need to sing a love ballad the whole way.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You’re listening?” he shouts out to the cave, the void so big no echo is coming back. “Well, I hope you do!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He starts walking forwards, and as he goes, he sings. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Start from the classics.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“What shall we do with a drunken sailor?</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>What shall we do with a drunken sailor?</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>What shall we do with a drunken sailor?</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Early in the morning!”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Maybe it’s not a song of love, maybe not even the best one, but it’s true to him, isn’t it? At least to a part of him, the part who never forgot the sea, that still knows how it is to have a sailing crew who sings through all the work and chores just to pass the time. Some may say it’s a grim pick, but Sohra told him that as long as the song means something to him, it should do. He hopes they’re right. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Way-hay, up she rises,</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Way-hay, up she rises,</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Way-hay, up she rises,</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Early in the morning!”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He thinks of Wilde. He thinks of how he always wanted to teach him all the songs he knew, because Zolf understood what music means for Wilde and longed to show him this part of himself that also relishes melodies. He thinks of all those moments he daydreamed about the days of fishing on a small boat or sailing a quiet pond, memories he had that he hoped to one day recreate with Wilde beside him. And all of that, the love and longing and the awful sting of never being able to do all of that unless he succeeds - that all goes into these words. It doesn’t matter if the words don’t speak his heart. All that matters is that he’s trying.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Put him in the longboat 'til he's sober</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Put him in the longboat 'til he's sober</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Put him in the longboat 'til he's sober</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Early in the morning!”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It’s through the second verse that he finally sees something happening.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>On the ground, a few feet ahead, a glow appears. It’s a thin thread of white light, and it’s quickly shooting forwards, making way in the small cracks of the stone and showing the way for Zolf. He sees it turning abruptly left and disappearing between what Zolf thought until now was a solid wall. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>It’s working. Somehow… this is working.</span>
  </em>
  <span> Zolf can’t help his smile. For some reason, the underworld answers to him. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Zolf rushes forwards after the line, as fast as he can, and he sings.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He sings all he learned at sea. He sings of fighting storms and missing home. He sings of the untamable force of the ocean, the beauty of the wind, the grounding feeling of the shore under your feet. He sings of brotherhood between crewmates, of loyalty and love and mourning. And he follows the line. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>When the songs he learned on water run out, he starts to sing the ones he picked up on land. He sings a wordless melody he always heard Hamid humming to himself, when he thought no one noticed, but Zolf somehow managed to pick up. He sings a song of plants and life that Azu taught him, after she noticed he was listening to her singing it on the way back from the Shoin institute. He even hums a little tune that he heard Cel singing while they worked on the ship together, every time filling it with different whispers of love for their equipment. Zolf doesn’t know how he even picked that one up, but it’s there. All of his friends are with him.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Somehow, the songs keep making a way. The light in the stone keeps on forward, slithering between highs and lows, circling high columns and showing him secret passages in the walls, and soon Zolf has no idea where he even started, caught in a maze of stone. </span>
  <em>
    <span>But this power is answering my call, so this must be the right way. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>And when even these lyrics run out, and the line keeps going, Zolf sings songs of the dead. Songs his parents rocked him to sleep with as a child… The little melodies his brother would whistle on his way to the mines, the working tunes they sang together...</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Zolf is not just singing, he is remembering, and his chest aches hard as tears soak in his beard. He knows he has to keep on, to save the love he can still save…</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sasha was not much of a singer, he knew that. She once told him, with somewhat of a proud smile, how it was one of the things her tutors were the most frustrated they didn’t manage to teach her. But that didn’t mean she wasn’t all over singing. Mostly to herself, when she thought she wasn’t being heard, but Zolf noticed. Some rhymes she picked up in Other London, telling stories of jumping over roofs and throwing mud on one another behind building corners and frying eels around small bonfires. Zolf presumed it was the songs of her own childhood, little trinkets of the rare things she loved in her past. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>But he never thought to ask more, and now it’s too late. All he can do is remember her. Remember and sing.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He has no idea for how long he’s been walking before the horizon finally changes. The line leads him to a flatter surface, not as nearly as obscured by those shining columns, though Zolf can still spot them here and there. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Zolf hears it before he sees it - the subtle trickling of flowing water, not far ahead of him now. When he finally reaches the source of sound, he’s standing on the shore of a wide river, the water so muddy he even doubts it’s water.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Gods, it stinks. </span>
  <em>
    <span>The London sewers were better than this.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Also, there’s a boat with a man in it, and he is most definitely looking at Zolf.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You’re not dead,” says the caped shadow, red eyes glowing under the hood.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Zolf examines the ragged boat that seems to barely hold itself together, and then back at the man. “And you’re… Charon, I presume?” </span>
  <em>
    <span>Not many other options for a man in a boat who knows who is dead and who isn’t. He was probably expecting to pass a soul through to the gates of the underworld.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The man stops in place, his hands dropping away from the oars he held in place. “I… haven’t heard this name in a long time,” he says slowly, his voice raspy and old, like grinding stones. “The religion lot never pass here, and the others have long forgotten.” He snickers. “What have you here, dwarf? This is not a place for flesh and bone.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’ve come looking for a friend,” Zolf says slowly, choosing his words carefully. </span>
  <em>
    <span>He might be the help I need to continue this journey.</span>
  </em>
  <span> “You might have seen him? Tall, reddish-brown hair, long scar on his face?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Charon leans forwards as he rolls up the hood, revealing fiery eyes sunken in papery, almost transparent skin. An unkempt dark beard surrounds the lower half of his face, which currently gives Zolf a clear grimace of dissatisfaction.“He was not given any proper burial, and refused to give me any valuables he did have to take him across to the underworld. Yes, I remember him. What do you want? I have souls waiting.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Zolf feels fondness swelling in his chest. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Wilde refused to pass over. He trusted enough that someone would come for him. That’s… good</span>
  </em>
  <span>. “Do you know where he went?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“To where all the lost souls go, of course,” Charon’s voice suddenly becomes much lighter, and a wicked smile rises on his lips. “I can take you to him… If you’re willing to pay.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Zolf raises a thick eyebrow. “What price, exactly?” He already knows he’s willing to pay almost anything. He’s not here to fail.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Charon tilts his head, motioning to the empty seat in the boat, which he has slowly rowed to the edge of the river, bringing it to a boarding distance away from Zolf. “Why won’t you come along and find out on the way?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>If it were any other situation, Zolf would demand to know more. He knows how stupid it is to go into what is practically a domain of a god, and he wouldn’t just go on and do that kind of thing. </span>
  <em>
    <span>To agree! To an offer from a god of death! Who would’ve thought...</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Right, fine. Make some space.” Zolf hefts himself onto the boat, and sits down in front of Charon. “Hello.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Charon’s eyebrows go up questioningly. “You’ve got quite the spirit, if you’re this rude to a god you just met.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Well, what can I say.” Zolf gives him a dry smile. </span>
  <em>
    <span>I don’t respect gods that much anymore.</span>
  </em>
  <span> “You did say I can come along.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hmm, yes, I suppose I did.” Charon starts to paddle again, and soon they are caught up in the slow stream of the river, and as the seconds go by, Zolf suspects more and more they’re journeying through the river Styx. The water is a sickly foul green, and the stench that rises from it makes Zolf’s sense of smell to quit immediately.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>They sail for a few minutes in silence, Zolf absorbing the reality he’s now in while Charon just stares at him, so intensely that a part of Zolf wonders if Charon is trying to set him on fire, or something of the like.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Eventually, Zolf focuses his glance back at Charon. “So… where are we going?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Ah ah, not so quick,” he smiles. “Let’s start with an introduction, maybe? Apparently, I do not need one, but you… I have no idea who you are.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Zolf Smith.” He considers offering  his hand, then quickly decides against it. </span>
  <em>
    <span>You never want to shake the hand of a god just like that. That kind of thing can have… consequences.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Zolf Smith,” Charon repeats slowly, going over the vowels, and then his lips return to the smile he had before. Zolf is starting to find this disturbing. “And you’re looking for…?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Zolf’s hands tighten around his knees in frustration. “Oscar Wilde. Excuse me for being blunt, Mister… Sir… however you prefer to be addressed, I don’t know. But would you mind telling me what kind of price are you demanding?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Everything in its due course, Zolf. We have time for a long conversation.” He pushes the oars, stirring the boat towards the left of a two-way split in the water. “And Charon alone is fine. A god or not, I meet all the living in the end. I have given up on formalities a long time ago.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Despite the frustration and urgency he feels, that’s something Zolf can appreciate. </span>
  <em>
    <span>It’s interesting, meeting a god like him who is minor to the world. He’s so much more… eye leveled, I guess. </span>
  </em>
  <span>Zolf examines the unchanging grin of the man in front of him once more. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Might just make him more dangerous.</span>
  </em>
  <span> “Right. Charon, then. What is it you want to hear? Because I have no questions besides what do I need to get to him.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Charon leans back in his seat, still sailing, even while it seems he is not putting any effort in it. “Tell me. Why are you looking for this.. Wilde person? Surely, it’s taken you a great deal of effort just arriving here. People don’t go to the underworld in a desperate attempt to find someone.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I thought that’d be pretty obvious? I want to bring him back, of course.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“There are many reasons to come looking for the dead. For information, usually, but sometimes for forgiveness, or maybe to fulfil a prophecy. But no, that’s not what I asked at all.” Charon shakes his head. “No, I asked why you are looking for him, not what for.” His smile tightens. “Please, don’t try to lie to me, if you like having your head above water.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Wasn’t going to,” Zolf mutters. He’s struggling to get the words out, not because he’s embarrassed, but because ever since the crash he’s been so deep in denial about his own feelings. It’s so much, that just the thought of talking about it makes his throat feel tight. Zolf swallows, looks down, sniffes. Stifles a sob. “I - I love him, alright? I love him, and - ,” his voice breaks. “I don’t know - I don’t think I can go on without him. Not… not really. It’s too much, without him.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Thank you for your honesty,” Charon says quietly. Zolf isn’t looking at him, tears in his eyes, and he dabs them with the edge of his sleeve in an attempt to try and gain his composure back. At least it doesn’t sound like the ferryman is smiling.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>They sit in silence for some time, the only sounds being the echo of dripping water in the underground. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Zolf is being quiet enough with the sobbing that it is not heard.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>After an unknown amount of minutes passes, Zolf finally looks back up. Charon had the decency of not staring at Zolf for the whole time he was crying, so there was that. But now he looks back. He’s not saying anything, just… waiting for Zolf to continue this conversation.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Zolf clears his throat. “Ah. So. About that price you mentioned before?” His voice is raspy, but he manages to keep it stable.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Somehow, the fire in Charon’s eyes manages to glint even brighter. “Well. Usually people pay me with coinage to pass them to the other side, or give me some gems or jewelry.” He chuckles, revealing a row of perfect white teeth. “They always think it’s the price that matters. How much it’s </span>
  <em>
    <span>worth.</span>
  </em>
  <span> Such a mortal idea… Like I would care about the </span>
  <em>
    <span>price</span>
  </em>
  <span>.” He spits the word through his teeth, disgusted. Zolf doesn’t interfere.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Charon smiles again. “I’ll tell you a little secret, Zolf. I really, really don’t mind how much they give me. What I care about is what something </span>
  <em>
    <span>means. </span>
  </em>
  <span>When you’re a god, you have to find a hobby, right?” He snorts. “Like a god would want to be paid to! No, the fact that they think it means something is the real worth. The fact that a woman would give up a coin she desperately needs to help her husband in the afterlife… that’s what I want.” Charon leans forwards, stops pushing just for a second. “What I want from you is simple, Zolf. Give me something you think is worth the return of your love, and I will take you to him.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“That simple?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Charon raises his hands in the air, his various rings of silver and gold catching the dim light in the metal and twinkling back. “No tricks. I promise.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Lemme think of something?” Zolf asks.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Take the time you need.” His smile crooks to one side. “However… think </span>
  <em>
    <span>well.</span>
  </em>
  <span> You have but one chance to offer me something. Then, we’re doing it on my terms.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Right, okay,” Zolf murmurs. </span>
  <em>
    <span>I don’t like this, but that’s the offer I’m given, so I have to take it. </span>
  </em>
  <span>He contemplates Charon’s words, trying to find a solution to what feels like a riddle. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Something you think is worth the return of your love… What do I have that qualifies for this? I never held many meaningful things on my person. Except… I don’t want to part with it. But...</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Zolf slides Feryn’s ring off his finger, and presents Charon with it. “This was my brother’s ring,” he says quietly. “He died, a long time ago. Because of me. I was responsible for the collapse in the mines, and… I can never forget I did that. It’s all I have left of him.” Zolf feels an ache in his chest. “But you can have it as payment?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Charon gives him a questioning look. “Can I take a look?” Zolf nods.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The god picks the ring up with delicate fingers, and looks it over, turning the band in the light, examining the sigent closely. Zolf is almost holding his breath.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The ring returns to his palm, and his heart falls. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Charon shrugs. “I’m sorry. I understand why you offered it, and I am not trying to underestimate the value that this has to you; but I’ve received similar tokens for much lesser things.” He shrugs apologetically. “You’re asking me to help you bring back the man you love to life. I’m a fair god, but it goes both ways. I’m not about to cheat my own laws.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Zolf slides the ring back on, a heavy weight sitting in his chest. And there’s another thing there, bubbling up from his stomach to his heart. Anger. “I don’t - I don’t have anything else to offer you, Charon! What else can you ask for? Because really, this - ,” he holds his hand up, showing the ring again. “This is my most valuable thing, and I - this, this quest I’m on, I need to get to him, I need to have Wilde back, this can’t be how it ends! So - I don’t know. I don’t know what else you want. I don’t.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Don’t get angry, Zolf,” Charon’s voice is cold, calculated. “This can go a very different way. I like your spirit, but there’s a limit.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It’s only then that Zolf notices they stopped in place. Somehows, the water is quiet. There is no stream. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Oh, I hate this.</span>
  </em>
  <span> He doesn’t say anything, but looks away. </span>
  <em>
    <span>I’m not sorry for saying that, it’s true, I can’t just end here. But best not to anger him more than I already did. </span>
  </em>
  <span>Zolf does the smart thing, and shuts up.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Charon’s shoulders relax, his features smoothing over, and he’s giving Zolf that same damned smile again. It’s uncomfortable. “So,” he drags the word over his tongue, delaying his own words. “The problem is, you weren’t thinking big enough, Zolf. I said, give me something, but never said it should be </span>
  <em>
    <span>physical.</span>
  </em>
  <span> You have thoughts, feelings, beliefs, memories. You can give any of them away.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Zolf’s mouth goes dry at hearing the words, but Charon doesn’t seem to notice how tense the dwarf turned. “Unfortunately, since you didn’t come to that conclusion yourself… I believe it’s my turn to propose a deal.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Charon leans forward, dropping his elbows on his knees, and Zolf recoils instinctively, his shoulders becoming stiff as his mind frantically screams at him that he should run, he should get away from this man right now. Instead he’s frozen in place, staring at burning coals. “My offer to you is this, Zolf. I... want…, “ his grin becomes just slightly wider, and it’s clear he’s </span>
  <em>
    <span>enjoying </span>
  </em>
  <span>the suspension. “Your every memory that sparked romantic love for Oscar Wilde. Give them to me, and I’ll complete my part of the deal. All you have to do is shake my hand.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Zolf’s entire being is screaming, weeping in pain at the sacrifice demanded from him. To lose that… It’s incomprehensible, an impossible idea to wrap his thoughts around. But he already knows that's not a decision, not really. He just needs a moment to process. “That’s… cruel,” is all he manages to utter, for the time being.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“As I said, Zolf. I’m a fair god, but I never claimed to be nice.” Charon straightens his back. “And I take what I want more than what is offered to me.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Okay, right,” Zolf whispers. “Can I… Would you just give me a bit of time?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Charon’s eyes narrow in confusion, and it seems like something about Zolf’s words managed to surprise him for the first time in their conversation. “Yes, you can… To be frank, from the way you looked just saying his name, I thought you’d agree to this right away…?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It’s not time so I can make a </span>
  <em>
    <span>decision</span>
  </em>
  <span>,” his voice comes out strangled, but somehow he keeps it steady enough to speak. “I just want to mourn.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh.” When he speaks next, Charon sounds genuinely empathic. “Take all the time you need.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Zolf doesn’t answer. He doesn’t owe this god a reply, not now.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Instead, he forces himself to breathe. Inhale. Air flows through his nostrils, his chest rising up. Goes down, pushes back out, the words he begs to cry out just a voiceless scream on his tongue as the air slides away. Exhale. He closes his eyes, and lets the tears roll down as he thinks. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>I don’t know… I don’t know which memories would even be taken away from me. I don’t know how much I’ll forget. Would I even know I’m in love with him?</span>
  </em>
  <span> Each word he thinks tears and claws at his heart, the reality of the situation dawning. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Gods, gods, gods. I can’t do this. </span>
  </em>
  <span>He takes in another shaky breath. </span>
  <em>
    <span>But I have to, I have to bring him back. Oscar needs to live. I just have to hope my love for him as a friend is enough to get us both out of here.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>After all, there’s no use being in love with a dead man.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Zolf opens his eyes. They haven’t moved from their spot in the Styx, but Charon isn’t looking at him like he did before. The god diverted his look up to the stone ceiling, probably trying to give Zolf some privacy.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He knows there isn’t much he can do. Even if he could write down in extreme detail everything he felt and remembered form Wilde, it still won’t be enough. But… he still wants Oscar to know, at least. To know that Zolf loves him, and forever will. Even if Zolf himself won’t remember it.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Zolf pulls out a few rolls of parchment, and a pen. And on his thighs, with a shaky hand and broken words, he writes a letter to Oscar.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Tap, tap, tap, tap, </span>
  </em>
  <span>water drips from somewhere above. He's in a void of silence. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It takes him a long time to write the letter.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>When he finishes, Zolf tucks the letter safely back in his backpack, and turns back to Charon. He clears his throat, both to get his attention and to try and sound semily fine. “I’m… I’m ready. Let’s get this over with.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>When Charon faces him, the fire in his eyes is gone. Just for a second, but Zolf catches it - warm chestnut eyes that actually look sympathetic. That moment flickers away as it never was, the fire returning in its full intensity. Even if it was barely there… Zolf can’t help but feel that what he saw has meaning. A shame that he doesn’t care much for that right now, then.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Charon gives a small smile, and it at least seems genuine. “If it’s any consolation, it will not be immediate. You might just manage to tell him how you feel, before the memories dissipate. And you’ll know what you felt before, too.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“But I won’t know what it was like. Or why.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yes.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Zolf gives a wry smile. “Somehow I can’t help but feel that it’s much worse.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Charon doesn’t refer to this comment. He just offers his hand to Zolf, palm open for a handshake. “When you’re ready.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Zolf nods, sends his hand forward, and they shake.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He expects to see or hear something big, maybe feel the memories being ripped away from him. But all that happens is that Charon takes his hand away, and soon they are sailing fastly in the river, not talking.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Zolf stares at the blurry, yet unchanging view, and tries to make sense in his thoughts. It doesn’t feel like anything is missing. And he still feels his love for Oscar burning in him like a thousand suns, as it always does. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He tries to recall a fond memory. Zolf finds it easily - him and Wilde in the kitchen together, making breakfast after a week of quarantine, finally being able to eat something not made by Barnes or Carter, who both had the terrible tendency of burning stuff. Zolf is cutting vegetables, and Wilde… is not doing much, actually, mostly just passing the occasional ingredient to Zolf while chatting with him. He remembers that Wilde was unusually cheery that morning, so much that he even sang a song… What was it about? Zolf was sure he knew what it was, knew that it made him feel -</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Oh.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>So this is how it’s gonna be like?</span>
  </em>
  <span> Tears choke his throat again. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Fractions of memories, slowly being taken away from me? Until I forget every little second that made me fall in love with him?</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>How long will it even take for me to forget what it’s like to be in love with Oscar Wilde?</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Zolf is mourning his own heart, but he knows he made the right decision. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Anything’s better than him dead… But it doesn’t mean I can’t mourn everything I am losing.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“We’re here.” Zolf looks up to Charon, and then back out of the boat. They arrive at a shore, and from there he can see the river splits up again. In one direction, it’s still the Styx - that same ugly brownish-green, stinking no less than it did before. But to his right, where they stopped… the river is slowly turning to a misty white, so blurry that Zolf isn’t sure if it’s actually the water, or fog crawling upon it. He spots dozens of scattered red spots, and they have the distinct scent of poppies rising from them, which is a blessed relief after so long on the Styx.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Where is here, exactly?” Zolf whispers.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Charon leans beside him on the edge of the boat, motioning to the new river. “That’s the Lethe. All of the souls that don’t have anything to give, or refuse to give anything… they end up here. Until they change their mind, or until they’re not themselves anymore.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The name is familiar to Zolf. He knows it from his study of the myths. “River of Forgetfulness.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Charon gives him a short pat on the shoulder. “I’d hurry, if I were you. He hasn’t been here for long, so… maybe you got lucky.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Unlikely. </span>
  </em>
  <span>Zolf slings the backpack on his back, and jumps out of the boat to the shore, his legs giving just a small clank as the metal shakes against the stone. He turns to Charon. “Ah… I’d say thank you, but it’s a bit more complicated than that.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Charon sighs. “A thanks alone would have been enough.” He starts pushing the oars back, the boat kissing away the shore as it’s caught in the stream. “Goodbye, Zolf Smith. I hope you manage this.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Zolf watches him for a few more seconds - the hood goes back on his head, the boat turns away, and then the god is gone.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>No time for pondering. Just move.</span>
  </em>
  <span> Zolf shakes himself, and starts walking fast along the Lethe, careful not to be too close to the poppies. The scent is wonderful, aromatic, heavy on the senses, like burning etheric oils someone would light up before sleep. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He suddenly remembers the river Lethe goes through the domain of Hypnos, the god of sleep. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Zolf walks even faster.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Soon enough, it’s clear to Zolf that both his suspicions about the color of the river were correct. The water itself is a murky white, but there’s also a thick fog upon it, that as the river flows spreads to the shore and up, covering everything. It’s only a few minutes before Zolf’s vision is limited to the few feet ahead of him, and he has to walk with blind faith that he’ll get where he needs to go.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He walks for a short while before he hears something new. Somewhere unknown ahead of him, someone is speaking. No… it’s much more than just one person, and they don’t sound clear to him at all. It’s a mess of sounds, murmurs and cries and begs that fly in the air. Zolf hears names, pleadings for help, but also people repeating things to themselves, the same unclear sentences chanted over and over again.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Zolf knows his time is running short. He hasn’t checked much on his memories, too afraid to discover the edges of holes, but he knows some of them are already missing. He feels how his whole perception of Oscar is changing, memory and reality crashing in confusion inside of him. Zolf needs to get to him now, as long as he has some of that inside of him.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sohra said the music would be to get here and back, nothing about the place itself, or what he would have to do to actually find Wilde. But it wouldn’t be a bad idea to try.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Zolf closes his eyes, and holds Oscar’s image as clear as he can in his mind. He makes sure to focus on the details he is terrified he’ll forget soon - the little twisted crook of his smile from his scar, how his hair shines in the sun, the delicate hands that hide small, thin scars on their fingers. How wearing reds and golds seems to just bring out the golden-green flakes in his hazel eyes. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>And Zolf starts to hum. It doesn’t have a melody, it’s not a song. Just intonation. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Something warm forms in his heart, and Zolf feels the pull of a thread.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Maybe he has more luck than he thought, after all.  </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Zolf follows the pull, walks with closed eyes, slipping between lost souls who don’t notice him as he keeps his song. He pours everything he still has to give, and hopes it will be enough.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The pull ceases, and Zolf opens his eyes.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>There, in front him, just at the edge of the fog, he sees a painfully familiar figure. A maroon coat, high leather boots, wavy auburn hair that reaches shoulders. He’s muttering something to himself, looking at the ground, going around himself in circles.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oscar!” Zolf yelps, running to him, almost stumbling over his own steps as he rushes forward. “Oscar!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Oscar looks up from the ground, clear confusion written on his face. Zolf is already beside him, taking the taller man’s hands in his, and squeezes them as relief floods his heart. “I’m here. I came to take you back.” </span>
  <em>
    <span>I made it here on time.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Wilde looks down at him, and raises an eyebrow before pulling his hands away.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m sorry, but who are you?”</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>...I'm sorry</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. The Truth</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>As Zolf finds out, honesty is harder than it seems.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>So, last chapter, folks!<br/>I'm so excited to share this. This has truly been a challenge for me and I'm so happy I got to the end.<br/>Thank you once again to all the romans who I love very much!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em>
    <span>I’m sorry, but who are you?</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The words keep ringing in Zolf’s ears long seconds after they left Wilde’s lips, and Zolf has to take a step backwards from the shock. </span>
  <em>
    <span>I thought he’d be confused, maybe… maybe would have forgotten some things, but… he doesn’t recognize me… What does it mean? Is he lost already?</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Zolf feels the panic clawing up his lungs as his vision blurs, and he has to force himself to breathe consciously as he wipes the tears away. </span>
  <em>
    <span>No. No. I can still do this, there is still time. He speaks coherently, and that’s a good sign. Go.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He looks back up to Wilde, who is still giving him that heartbreaking look of furrowed brows with a slightly open mouth, like he can’t decide if he’s more confused or skeptical. Zolf comes close again, and has to stop himself from grabbing Oscar’s hands. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Baby steps.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Wilde.” Oscar’s eyes focus on Zolf back again, those eyebrows knitted together in a way that is too close to breaking Zolf’s heart. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Gods, he’s so lost.</span>
  </em>
  <span> “I don’t know how much you remember, but… I’m Zolf, if that name means anything to you. I’m, eh. I’ve been looking for you? It’s… Do you know where we are?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The man pushes his hands in the pockets of his jacket, and then shrugs. “I am… not quite sure myself, if I’m honest?” Wilde shakes his head. “But wait, wait. I don’t understand. You’re speaking like I’m supposed to know you, but I swear I have never seen you in my life.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Well, that hits Zolf square in the chest. But he doesn’t have the time to process, because it seems like something hit Wilde too. His face suddenly drops any hint of question, and his mouth tightens into a bitter smile as he once again distances himself from Zolf. “No no no, I know this one.” He lets out a shaky breath. “Congratulations! You kidnapped Oscar Wilde, good for you. Now cut to the chase. Who are you, </span>
  <em>
    <span>really?</span>
  </em>
  <span> What did you do to… mess with my memory like that? Nice work, I have to admit, but you can’t fool me for that long.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Zolf buries his head in his hands in desperation, fingers going through his hair before looking back at Oscar. His shoulders are going up and down quickly, but his face remains completely unfazed, pretending that he’s not panicking. </span>
  <em>
    <span>He’s barely holding it together, of course he’s suspecting me, and I’m… how am </span>
  </em>
  <span>I</span>
  <em>
    <span> supposed to convince him I’m not here to hurt him?</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Look, Wilde, that’s not what you think, alright?” Zolf takes a step back, and slowly, making sure Wilde can see, pulls his glaive from it’s secure place upon his back only to throw it on the ground between the two of them. “I’m not here to hurt you, and I’m not the one who brought you here. If you just - ,” he cuts himself off. </span>
  <em>
    <span>You can’t dance around your own words if you want him to listen to you! Just tell him before the time runs out. </span>
  </em>
  <span>“Please. Let me explain first, and I promise… if you don’t trust me by the end, then that’s okay. I’m just trying to help you remember, too.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>For a few long seconds, Wilde doesn’t move, just stares at Zolf as though he’s trying to solve a too complicated riddle. Then his shoulders slump in place, and instead of the strong pretence of moments ago there’s just a tired man. “Alright, okay. Have your go.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Zolf gives him a hesitant smile. “Thank you. So, basically.” Deep breath. “We were on a mission, you and me, with some other people. Trying to save the world, and all that. I hope you can remember that’s a thing you do for a while now?’”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Though he doesn’t answer, there’s a glint in Wilde’s eyes, which Zolf decides to take as a good sign. “Right. So, we were on an airship, and we were flying through the aurora borealis, and… the engines stopped working. There was a crash, and not everyone made it. Including you.” He’s speaking fast, trying not to let his own voice break, hoping that he’s not shocking Wilde too much. “I came to, eh, find you. And now I did. But this place we’re in, the river Lethe… it’s affecting our memories, erasing them, and you’ve been here for a while, which is why you have details missing, I would guess.” Zolf clears his throat, from stifled tears or the crawling fog, he doesn’t know. “So. That’s it, really.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Wow. Um, okay.” Wilde chuckles faintly. “Sorry, that’s just a lot to take in…,” his voice dies down. From the familiar way Oscar sucks on his bottom lip, Zolf can tell his friend is running internal calculations, figuring out what to do next. “I think… I believe you? I don’t know, this sounds weirdly realistic, and… it would explain why I can’t even recall what the hell is the name of the color of my own damn shoes.” There’s something broken in the way Wilde is looking down at the black leather on his feet, how he’s quivering in place. Zolf sees that even through the white tendrils that are starting to seperate them, and he aches to give him comfort, to ease his pain. But he knows that’s not in his power. Not now. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>...Wait. The fog… We don’t have much time. I have to get him out.</span>
  </em>
  <span> Zolf tries to ignore how his own mind feels hazier as the seconds pass, pieces disappearing under water he cannot reach as both the deal he made with Charon and the Lethe fight on who steals his memories away from him. </span>
  <em>
    <span>The both of us.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Zolf takes one step forward. “Listen. I can explain more, I promise, but… we have to get away from the river, if we don’t want to mess up our minds even more.” Not moving from where he stands, Zolf offers his hand. “Just so we won’t get seperated here, it’s… easy to get lost. If you’re with me, I can lead us out.” Wilde gives him an unsure look, so he hurries to add, “and, you can take the glaive, if you want.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>That seems to reassure Wilde. He bends forward and picks up the glaive, gripping the handle tightly, before closing the distance between the two of them and finally, </span>
  <em>
    <span>finally, </span>
  </em>
  <span>making contact as he slides slim fingers to be held by Zolf’s warm hand. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Zolf really has to fight not to intertwine their fingers. </span>
  <em>
    <span>You just got his trust. He still doesn’t remember you, don’t push your luck.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Okay… what do we do from here? How do we get out?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Don’t worry.” Zolf ignores his own fears, and just smiles at Oscar. A genuine, honest smile. “I know the way.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>And then, Zolf closes his eyes, and he sings again.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>___________</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>They’ve been walking for a long time before the string that pulls at Zolf’s heart stops tugging, and the dwarf opens his eyes, having to blink a few times to regain his senses. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The walk brought them back to the Styx, stinking as - well, as hell, but Zolf welcomes its scent over the heavy numbness of the Lethe. The air also seems to be vacant of fog, which means they’ve made it out. </span>
  <em>
    <span>That raises the question, though… if we are on the right direction, why can’t I feel the connection anymore?</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Fingers slide away from his own, and that gentle movement is enough to remind Zolf that </span>
  <em>
    <span>oh, yes, we’ve been holding hands for this whole time.</span>
  </em>
  <span> He turns back to Wilde, who has put the glaive down and is now tucking his hands back into the pockets of the jacket, his gaze turned away from Zolf and to the river.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It hurts, then, when realization stabs his heart. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>They’ve been holding hands for so long, and what Zolf feels?</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He used to jolt from any accidental touch.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Now it’s warm, comforting love in his chest. Tingling fingers, at the most. Looking at a wistful Wilde doesn’t seem to feel the same as…</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He’s starting to forget the comparison itself.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Zolf still loves him. Of course he does! What he has with Wilde, that’s more than just romance. But…</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>I just hoped I’d have a little longer than this.</span>
  </em>
  <span> He fights back the tears, trying not to break. Not now, when he’s so close. </span>
  <em>
    <span>It’s fine. Or, I’ll make it fine. The important bit is to take him out. And… I still have the letter.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Zolf?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>That startles him. Not because he wasn’t focused, but because the voice is quiet and soft, open like a blooming flower. Because… when he looks up, Wilde’s eyes are fixed on him, and they look so painfully warm. “You’re alright? You look… conflicted.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah, I’m just - y’know, planning ahead.” Zolf clears his throat. “How are you feeling? You seem… better.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I am.” For the first time here, Wilde actually gives a fleeting smile. “I’m starting to remember, I think. There’s pieces, and they’re not coming back in the right order, not yet. The edges are… fuzzy, like I know the general picture, but the moment I try to recall anything specific, it’s all back to that fog.” A shudder goes through his spine. “You were right, getting out of there was the solution.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“That’s good. You’re coming back to yourself.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah, yeah.” Wilde pulls his hands out of his pockets as though he’s trying to reach out to something, but then just claps them together, his mouth hanging open as he’s trying to think. “Zolf, I’m… sorry. I didn’t really understand anything that went on in there, everything was just so tangled together, and - “</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Wilde,” Zolf cuts him off. “It’s </span>
  <em>
    <span>okay. </span>
  </em>
  <span>You were literally by the river of forgetfulness, I’m not gonna blame you for that.” He sighs, and his tone softens a little. “Listen, right now… just take some time, sit down, come back to yourself, something like that. I need to try and work out what’s next. If… if you even want to come with me, that is?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Wilde’s shoulders drop off. “I… Hmm. That’s… complicated.” He turns away from Zolf, watching over the wide space around them, his eyes following the river as it snakes away. “What do you think waits for me? Beyond the river, I mean. If I pass on.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It’s hard to answer. You were never the worshiping type, so… I guess you’ll go to reside in whichever of the God’s domains you most resonate with. Apollo, maybe? I always thought it’s a good fit for you.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hey!” Wilde calls, turning back to Zolf with mouth agape, thick eyebrows raised up dramatically. “Are you calling me dumb, Zolf?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“No, I just - ,” Zolf stops himself, sighing with a hint of a smile. “Gods, you are an arsehole.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Wilde smiles back brightly. “Yeah, I am. But I did get you to smile, didn’t I?” The edges of his smile soften a little, and when he speaks again, his voice is back to that small, shy way he spoke before. “To your question… Yes, Zolf. I want to come back with you. Things aren’t simple, but…”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Good! Good.” He tries to smile, hoping that his insecurities are not shining through. “I was never going to force you, of course, but… I’m glad you’re coming back.” </span>
  <em>
    <span>It’d be too much without you.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m glad too.” His voice, so help him the Gods. Even when he’s barely clinging to the fractions of his memories still there, Zolf wants to spill everything right here and now. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>But they’re running so close to the limit of what Zolf can bear before he breaks down, and that would shatter him. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>So instead he looks away, and pushes hands in pockets, and clears his throat to explain as fast as he can. “Right. So. I don’t know if you figured that out yet, with the singing, and all that, but we’re kind of doing an Orpheus and Eurydice thing here, right? I’ve been basically following these lines and threads, I sing and they kind of appear. I’m guessing the last one stopped pulling cause… we haven’t replicated the last part of the ritual, not yet.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Wilde looks confused for a second, but then his eyes go wide with realization. “Oh. Do you think we should do the whole ‘following without speaking or looking back’ thing?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I guess so. It would make sense, and Sohra did say the ritual is based around this tale.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Sohra?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Sorry, yes, you haven’t met them. Their… someone we met. And they’re the reason I’m even here, they taught us the ritual.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Wilde straightens his back, and that’s only then that Zolf realizes how close they were standing, heads close as they could be. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Stop it, it hurts,</span>
  </em>
  <span> he tries to tell his heart, but it doesn’t listen. Meanwhile, Wilde carries on. “I’ll make sure to thank them, then.” He picks the glaive back up, and offers it to Zolf. “So I imagine we should just… go and do that?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yes.” Zolf takes the glaive from him, breathing in deep as he already readies himself. “Just… follow me, and don’t say anything.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Don’t look back.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Zolf nods. “Sure.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Oscar gives him a small smile. “See you on the other side.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Zolf doesn’t reply. He’s never been good enough with words for this kind of emotional moments.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>What he does do is turn away, keeping his eyes fixed on the stone passageways waiting for them, and starts walking.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Damn himself for keeping the love songs for now.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“</span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>When I was a little lad</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>And so my mother told me,</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Way, haul away, we'll haul away, Joe!</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>That if I did not kiss the gals</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Me lips would all grow moldy.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Way, haul away, we'll haul away, Joe!”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Surely enough, back is the light in the ground, guiding him to the world.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>And so they walk.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Or at least, Zolf has to believe they are. As he turns in corners, as he chooses his way in diverging paths, there’s nothing he can hear behind him. Not a voice or footsteps or even a breath. </span>
  <em>
    <span>It must be part of the magic of this ritual. You have to doubt yourself, to be unsure of the fate of the person you’re trying to rescue, so you eventually ruin everything. </span>
  </em>
  <span>That thought makes his voice pick up in volume. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Well, not me. We’re coming back.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Zolf also knows that the closer they’re getting to their unknown destination, the more the memories he promised Charon slip away from him. It feels as though his mind is slowly filling up with fog, but not like near the Lethe… no, this is so much more painful. Because each time he’s trying to trace through a memory, there’s just a bit his mind seems to simply… slip right past. Just a small blur where there should be a detail.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>And as the past goes away, so does something in his heart start to shift. All the tens of thousands of reasons he had to be in love with Oscar Wilde, all the words he wished to one day tell him, when the world is back together… they seem to run away from him.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>What was the joke he told Zolf in the inn, that one evening when they all tried to unwind? </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Wasn’t there something he particularly liked about the way Zolf cooks?</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Why did Zolf find Wilde’s smile so unique?</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Soon I won’t have any of it left, and that chance… it would be gone.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>(He doesn’t know what he hopes for more: that one day, his memories won’t hurt as much... or that he’ll keep on aching for what he lost.)</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Zolf doesn’t let the tears stop him from singing, but his voice grows sore as he sobs.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It’s like this for the whole way. Zolf sings, and follows the line in the ground, and for a time so outstretched it loses meaning, that’s all there is.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Up until Zolf sees the glow.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It’s so far when he first spots it, that he thinks it must be a trick of the light in the cavern, something about the reflections of the bright gemstones inlaid in the tall pillars. And yet, as he’s drawing near, it’s clear that not only is it something else from what Zolf has seen before, but that the magic he’s following leads him there.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He hastens his steps, walking as fast as his legs allow him, the song verging on the edge of a fraught scream to pull the both of them from this place.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>When he finally comes close, Zolf can tell the light comes from a crack in the ceiling up above, flowing down to make a circle of light just before him. It lights up the whole space, so bright that it prevents Zolf from seeing anything else in that direction clearly. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Zolf stops a few steps away from the light, right when the line that led him here ends. He’s panting, and his heart beats hard in his chest, but he can finally allow himself some sense of relief. </span>
  <em>
    <span>We actually made it.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Wilde?” He calls out with a hoarse voice, still not turning back to look.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Dead silence. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Right. </span>
  </em>
  <span>“Sorry, that was foolish. We made it, so… I’m gonna step into the light, and when you’re also inside the circle, just tell me, yeah?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>With that, Zolf takes the last few steps left, and just like that, he’s inside.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>A heartbeat passes. Then another one.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh, thank the Gods, I can speak,” Wilde exhales behind him, and Zolf spins around.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>There’s not much he can see outside their little circle, but Wilde himself is as clear and more lively than Zolf has seen him for a long time, even before the crash. The light illuminates his outlines, the red in his hair shining like fire and his sharp features all the more highlighted.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It doesn’t matter he’s barely in love anymore; Zolf knows Wilde can’t be described as anything but angelic. “Yeah, finally.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Wilde gives him his wonky smile, beaming at Zolf. “So… we get to go home?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yes, I imagine so… maybe we should just wait for a little.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hmm. I don’t mind that.” Wilde’s eyebrows pull close, and he takes a step closer to Zolf, his head bent down. “Zolf… I’m sorry if I’m crossing a line, but… have you been crying?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Zolf sniffs and rubs his eyes, hopelessly attempting to hide away the remnants of his sorrow. “Listen, Wilde, I’m - ,” he takes in a breath as he’s shuddering in place, and then his voice drops to be much softer than what he allowed himself up to now. “We don’t have the time for me to explain, Oscar.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The use of his first name seems to shock Oscar, and he takes in a sharp breath, eyes not moving away from Zolf, who forces himself to continue despite the new tears already forming. “I’m sorry, I never meant for our - our relationship to go this way, that’s not the way I wanted things to be, and in another world I would have had more choice. But it is what it is, and I don’t think I might ever get the chance again, so, here.” Zolf pulls the letter he wrote before from the side of his backpack, and hands it over to Wilde with shaky fingers. “That’s the best explanation I can give.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Oscar takes the letter from Zolf, still looking lost and confused. “Alright? Zolf, I’m right here. You can just talk to me.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Wilde, please.” Zolf takes a small step backwards, shaking his head. “I’m not… I can’t.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What do you mean?” Wilde presses. There’s something desperate in the way he looks at Zolf, a calling in his eyes Zolf will never be able to answer.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Zolf looks up, avoiding Wilde’s look as he takes a sharp inhale, fighting back his tears.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Gently, Wilde tucks the letter inside his jacket, then reaches forward, closing the gap between them and taking both of Zolf’s hands in his own. “Zolf, listen,” he says tenderly. “Whatever’s going on, you can tell me. I won’t be hurt, and I won’t blame you, so you can just tell me. I know we never talked about… this,” he presses the dwarf’s hands strongly. “But we’ve always been a team. And I won’t betray that.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>When Zolf looks back, his eyes are red, but he’s not actually crying. Not yet. “You don’t understand. I can’t just say it, it won’t be good enough. That’s not what you deserve.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Anything is good enough. Please.” He’s almost begging at this point. “Zolf, I lo -”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“No. Wilde. Please.” Zolf’s voice breaks as he cuts Wilde off, and the bard winces away from him. Zolf is already angry with himself, but he also doesn't want Wilde to live in any illusions. So he talks. “Don’t say that. I can’t give it back to you, not - not anymore. Just read the letter when we come back, okay?” He sniffs, watching as he’s clearly hurting Wilde. His own voice comes out raw, faint and pleading. “I am so, so sorry it turned out this way.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What happened, Zolf?” Wilde breathes, his own eyes welling up.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Before Zolf can think of an answer, the ground begins to shake below them, the circle of ground which they stand on rattling as it rises up in an only increasing speed. Out of instinct, Zolf clasps Oscar’s hand and pulls him close, trying to stabilize the both of them. “Hold on!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>There’s another rattle, and Wilde stumbles forward, his hand landing on Zolf’s shoulder. He regains his footing and straightens his gaze back to Zolf, not letting go of him. His eyes pierce Zolf’s soul, tear through him, leaving him open bare. “Just tell me!” Oscar shouts over the falling rock around them, his grip tightening on Zolf’s shoulder.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Something in Zolf breaks, and he finds himself crying again. “I fucking gave up loving you!” He screams.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>And then, they’re gone.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>___________</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Wilde wakes up with a jolt.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He’s sucking breath in as he sits right up, looking around frantically as he tries to understand what’s going on. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>There was singing, and magic, and stone.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Zolf!</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He flails around for him, but Zolf is already there, holding his hand. “Wilde, it’s alright. We’re back. We’re here. It’s fine.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Wilde’s fingers curl around Zolf’s palm, using the contact to ground himself. “Am I…?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Alive, yes.” Zolf gives his hand a short squeeze, but Wilde notices he’s not quite looking at him.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“How long have you been awake?” He’s guessing, but it makes sense. Zolf doesn’t seem as half as distraught as he looked in the cavern. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Fuck.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>The cavern.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Zolf shrugs. “A couple of hours? We’ve been waiting for a while, that’s for sure. You probably needed to recover.” But Wilde doesn’t hear him. He’s much more focused in dealing with the rush of feelings that attacks him as his mind traces back their last conversation, which feels like moments ago to him.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Zolf, about what you said…,” he whispers.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Finally, Zolf looks at him. He’s smiling, but his ocean eyes are a dark sea full of sorrow, and he looks so utterly broken. “Wilde… Not now. I can’t do this now.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Right,” Wilde murmurs, then huffs a small forced laugh. “Sorry.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hey, no, it’s okay. Just - ,” Zolf pulls his free hand over his face, letting out a heavy sigh. “This is something we can talk about, and you deserve to hear more from me. But just this time…,” he pulls Wilde to him with their still held hands, engulfing him with a tight hug. “I’d like to just be happy you’re not dead,” Zolf mutters beside his ear, his beard rubbing against Wilde’s cheek.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>And how can Wilde’s beating heart refuse Zolf like that?</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Alright,” Wilde replies softly, and closes his eyes. “Thank you.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Zolf’s arms tighten around him. “I’d do it again.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>They stay there, holding each other, not letting go.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>We’ll figure this out.</span>
  </em>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>That's it!</p>
<p>...Well, not exactly.<br/>I can definitely say that there will be a follow up for this to deal with the aftermath of Zolf's sacrifice and with the letter, which are both things I'm interested in exploring. This can still be read as a singular piece, but I thought it's good to let people know!</p>
<p>Thank you so much to anyone who left a kudos, bookmark, or a comment - they truly mean the world. I'm happy you enjoyed this, thank you for sharing my feels.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
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